Mine
by Khaleesi221B
Summary: John belongs with Sherlock, and Sherlock will do anything to make sure that nothing and no one gets between them. Dark and possessive Sherlock. Johnlock.
1. Chapter 1

I'm back with more Johnlock. I guess that anxiety about my exams gives me inspiration. What can I say?

People, I have some special news, so pay attention. Publishers hoping to ride the _Fifty Shades of Grey_ craze for so-called "mommy porn" are sexing up _Pride and Prejudice,_ along with other great works of English literature. Why am I telling you this? Because one of the classic books that are remade is A Study in Scarlet, with Sherlock and John as gay lovers. Yes, it's happening. Johnlock porn published in a book!

Now, about the story. Sherlock is a bit dark. It's set somewhere after 1x02. No beta read, and English is not my native language.

Enjoy!

* * *

It was yet another boring day. The consulting detective felt the boredom consume him, felt the ennui eat him away. A man of his intellect should not allow that. His brain was rotting.

There were no cases for him to solve. Any client who had showed up at 221B Baker Street in the hopes of being helped had nothing interesting to say. Sherlock would give anything for a good case.

His mind wandered to the mysterious Moriarty. Who was that man and just how far could he go? When would Sherlock finally meet him and what would happen then?

Sherlock felt like smoking. Hell, he really needed to smoke. It was one of these days that he could not resist the temptation.

He rose from the sofa in order to search for his cigarettes. It was only then that he realized that it was not day at all. Night had descended to the world, covering everything with its dark cloak.

And John was not back.

Sherlock knew that John had gone out on a date with his new irritating girlfriend, Sheila. Or, Sarah. Yes, Sarah, that was the name. But why hadn't he returned? For a moment Sherlock entertained the idea of John having been kidnapped, nevertheless it soon dawned on him that the blogger had most likely managed to get into that Sarah's bed and would spend the night at her place.

A beast roared inside Sherlock. An impossible rage, such as he had never experienced before, took over him. He was certain that the realisation was the cause of that, but he could not quite understand why.

His great mind finally found the answer, although it was a situation that he was not familiar with: he was jealous. Jealousy was the reason for his fury. He did not want that Sarah to be with John, _his_ John. John belonged to him, to no one else.

Sherlock groaned, a rather primitive sound. Sarah should get her hands off John, or things would not end well for her.

* * *

Sherlock woke up early in the morning. He had managed to sleep only thanks to cocaine. The sweet drug had flowed through his veins, delivering him to peaceful sleep. Now, however, he was wide awake.

And John was still not at home.

He tried to take his mind off that by finding shelter to his chemistry set. He was so unfocused that he almost blew the entire flat up. He decided to let it go and lay on the sofa.

Finally, John appeared. The whole room lit up, but Sherlock pretended that he had not even noticed his presence. He had his pride to think of.

"Good morning," John said cheerfully. His hair was just a little messy and he looked happy - yes, intercourse with Shirley. Sarah.

"Hm? Oh yes, good morning," Sherlock said indifferently.

"Um, are you okay?"

"Fine," Sherlock replied and yawned. "Why shouldn't I be?"

John looked at him for a while, studying him, trying to discover the truth. In the end, he seemed convinced. "Nothing."

"Where have you been? Did you get milk?"

"Um, no, I..." John looked, most likely blushing. "I spent the night at Sarah's."

Sherlock shot out of the sofa as quickly as a bullet at the mention of that woman's name. He did not want to hear it from John's mouth again. It was not worthy to be spoken by his blogger.

John looked at Sherlock strangely as the tall man approached him. "Are you sure nothing is wrong?" he asked considerately.

"Do you like her, John?"

John blinked. Obviously he had not expected a question about his personal life from Sherlock. He did not know why Sherlock actually was interested in that part of his life. "Um, yes. Yes, I do."

Sherlock tried not to sigh or groan or make any sort of noise that would indicate how he felt. He felt betrayed and bitter. But above all, he was angry.

* * *

Sherlock was being his usual self the rest of the day. He was not being normal. Normal considering that it was Sherlock Holmes.

Fortunately for the detective, John did not go out with Sarah that night. Even better, he was not in the least suspicious of Sherlock's behaviour earlier that day.

At some point, Sherlock stood up and put his long coat on. "Where are you going?" John asked, curious.

"At St. Bart's. Molly has a corpse for me."

"Oh. Tell her I say hi."

Sherlock smiled. "I will. Don't worry, I won't be long."

* * *

Sherlock did not go to St. Bart's. He did not even go near it. He had no corpse to examine and no reason to see Molly Hooper. He had another person in mind.

He had done a very good and thorough research considering John's new girlfriend. He even knew that Sarah passed a dark little road on her way home even though it was dangerous. That was Sherlock's chance.

He waited for her, merging in the shadows, not making a sound. He knew that she would turn up soon enough.

And, as sure as sunrise, she did. Sherlock grabbed her and covered her mouth with his gloved hand immediately so that she would not scream. When he let her see his face and she relaxed, he slowly removed his hand.

"Sherlock!" she breathed. "You scared me! What are you doing here?"

"Criminal activity has seriously risen around here, so I wanted to make sure that you would return home safely."

Sarah smiled. The fool had fallen for it. "Thank you," she said. "I know that you are doing this for John and not for me, but thanks anyway."

"Yes, I'm doing this for John," he whispered dangerously and covered Sarah's mouth with his hand again. Then, he took the knife out of his coat pocket and stabbed her.

* * *

When Sherlock returned to 221B Baker Street, John was awake and typing something at his laptop. He turned around as Sherlock took off his coat and shot out of his seat like an arrow, going to Sherlock immediately. He covered his mouth with his hand and his eyes widened.

"Oh god! Sherlock, what happened to you? Are you all right?"

"Oh, I am more than just all right!" Sherlock replied delightfully. "Nothing happened to me."

John looked at Sherlock's white shirt disbelievingly. There were blood stains on it. Then, he looked up at Sherlock. He was clearly worried. "But..."

"Oh, that's not my blood. It's Sarah's."

John blinked rapidly. "What?"

"Sarah. Your girlfriend. I killed her."

John gasped. His eyes widened once again. "Sherlock, what are you saying?"

"I killed her."

"God! Sherlock, what the hell were you thinking? Have you lost your mind?"

Unlike John, Sherlock was perfectly calm. "Come now, John. You've done it too; you killed that cabbie."

"That was different! I was SAVING YOU!"

"AND I WAS SAVING US!"

John stopped short immediately. He looked at Sherlock, breathing heavily. He opened his mouth, yet no word came out. He cleared his throat and tried again. "What...what are you saying?"

"You liked her, John," Sherlock explained patiently, as if he was trying to teach a lesson about the big bad world to a child. "And she liked you. She was trying to get between us. I could not allow that to happen." He held John's kind face between his hands. "Don't you see? You belong with me, John. With me, no one else."

John stared at the consulting detective. He looked numb. "I...I'll tell the police."

A smug smile spread across Sherlock's handsome face. "No, you won't. You are shocked right now, but you won't tell anyone."

John began to compose himself. "And why not?"

Sherlock leaned in to John. "Because you want me," he whispered against John's lips.

He gave the doctor one second to register what was happening, what was going to happen. Then he kissed him full on the mouth. It was not a tender kiss. He had wanted to do this for so long that his hunger took over. At first John did nothing. He tensed against Sherlock but did not move.

Sherlock's hands moved from John's face to John's waist. He pulled the shorter man really close to him until they were glued to each other. And then, John's lips began to move against Sherlock's. He kissed Sherlock back with equal fervor and placed his hands on the consulting detective's shoulders.

They broke the kiss when air became much needed. Their lips were already swollen because of the intensity of the kiss, and they were breathing fast. They looked deeply into each other's eyes and Sherlock smiled.

"You're mine," he whispered in John's ear and licked his ear shell, worrying the lobe between his teeth.

"Yes," John breathed.

* * *

And - THE END! I really enjoyed writing it! I hope you enjoyed reading it. If so, how about some feedback? :)


	2. Chapter 2

_This was actually supposed to be a one-shot. However, two lovely reviewers, __**BunBunBabe**__ and __**Kotori-Sensei**__, wanted more. And I wanted to write more Johnlock. So I thought, why not expand this little thing?_

_Once again, it is set after 1x02 and before 1x03. _

_Once again, this is unbeta'd and there might be mistakes because English is not my native language._

_Once again, I own nothing. I don't own the characters; the amazing Sir Arthur Conan Doyle is the god who created Sherlock; BBC and Moftiss own the show. No, unfortunately I don't own Benedict Cumberbatch either. But a girl can always dream, right?_

* * *

"Lestrade just called."

Sherlock did not say anything to that. If the DI did not have an interesting case for him, a seven at least, then he did not give a rat's ass.

"Sherlock, did you hear me?"

"Yes," he said tiredly.

John sat in his chair, opposite Sherlock. Or, to be accurate, he fell in his chair, as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and now he just needed to rest and let someone else take his burden.

"They found Sarah's body."

Sherlock looked at the doctor. The latter appeared to be calm, yet he was clearly worried. Something was tormenting him, eating him up.

Sherlock did not understand. John had accepted that he belonged with Sherlock. He had said it, and he had also proven it with actions: his kiss, his touch, the sweet sounds that had escaped his talented mouth when Sherlock touched him, as Sherlock took him and made him his.

John sighed. "What if they find out that it was you, Sherlock?"

The consulting detective almost sighed and smiled in relief. So that was why John was worried. John was worried about him. John cared about him.

"They won't," he said, arrogant and confident as ever. "No one saw me with her, it was dark. I had my gloves on the whole time. The knife was just a simple kitchen knife, everyone has one. I brought ours back here and cleaned it very thoroughly."

John was listening to him, transfixed as, well, pretty much always. "And what if they find hair or something?" he asked.

"No reason to worry," Sherlock replied immediately. "I took a couple of hairs from one of your jumpers and carefully placed them on her body. If they do find any of my hairs on her, they'll just think that the three of us had gone out."

Sherlock could almost see the gears of John's brain working furiously, trying to find a flaw. Although the consulting detective should be offended by the fact that John thought that he could actually find some sort of imperfection in his plan, he was, in all truth, flattered and touched. John cared about him so much that he was trying to make sure that Sherlock, the man who had killed his girlfriend in cold blood, would not get arrested.

John's head jerked. "Lestrade will need your help," he said. "With this total lack of evidence, he will need you to find the killer."

Sherlock smiled. Did John really think that he had not thought about that? Lestrade always needed him for the solving of a mystery. However, this was not really a mystery.

"No," he said. "He might ask for my opinion, but this isn't a murder. It's not what I usually occupy myself with. You see, apart from killer, I also became a director in this case. I made it look like it was a robbery. Sarah's shirt is a little ripped, and her wallet is gone. I gave the money it contained to any homeless people I found in my way. The wallet, empty except for her ID, is thrown in a bin."

"And her phone needed fixing, so it was in the skillful hands of a technician instead of on her."

Sherlock nodded. That was a small thing that had made things even easier for him. "Exactly," said he. "I think that even Anderson will jump to the conclusion that it was a robbery."

John laughed. He actually laughed. Sherlock had not expected this sort of behaviour from John - especially so shortly after Sarah's murder - but it was real. Life was good again. Better than before.

"Come to me," Sherlock said seductively, noticing that his deep voice caused John to shiver.

John looked at him and stood up. He could not resist, and both of them knew it. John was a moth drawn to the flame that Sherlock was. It had been like that since the beginning. It would always be like that.

Sherlock gently took hold of John's hands and guided the shorter man on his lap. His arms wrapped around John like vicious snakes, holding him there, with Sherlock.

"You know," John said teasingly, "I think that I might be gay after all."

Sherlock smiled and planted a soft kiss on John's neck, feeling the doctor's escalated pulse against his lips. "Well, Mrs. Hudson has known it since the very beginning; and that lovely woman knows everything, my dear. Furthermore, when we were at Angelo's, I thought that you were proposing to be my boyfriend. have my deductions ever been wrong? No."

John breathed a laughter and held Sherlock tighter. He leaned in and whispered into the consulting detective's ear, "And I thought you were married to your work".

Sherlock captured the blogger's lips in a kiss as the latter moved to get a better look at the former. John pressed himself against Sherlock, as best as he could in that position. Each could feel their own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the other. Their hearts were two drums, beating fast and loud and producing a harmonious music.

When they needed some oxygen, they broke the kiss. Sherlock stroked John's cheek as his breathing returned to normal.

"That wasn't a deduction," he said. "It was a statement. Statements can be proved wrong. That's what you did to this statement. You are the exception of my rule."

John smiled. "Is that a compliment?"

"Yes, feel free to blush."

Instead of blushing, John leaned in. Nevertheless, just then they heard the soft clicking of heels on the wooden stairs. Both of them knew who they would see. John started to rise, but Sherlock pinned him where he was with a strength that a man of his body structure did not seem to possess. John looked at him, surprised. However, it was more than mere surprise. He felt butterflies in his stomach, a feeling that Sherlock had recently reminded him how it was like. Sherlock did not mind if people saw. He only minded when someone tried to take John from him. In that case, the beast inside of him would awaken, roar and use its teeth and claws.

"Oh!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed happily when she finally got into the boys' flat. "I knew it."

* * *

_So, that's it. I think that it is rather fluffy. Oh well. Some domestic bliss is good and appropriate before...things happen._

_Thank you for reading. If you liked it, you know what to do. I love feedback; it gives me motivation to carry on writing and I believe that it makes me a better writer. I hope. :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_New chapter; I made it!_

_Just let me explain a little something. After the case of 1x02, John called Lestrade and Sarah was taken to a hospital. That's why Lestrade knows Sarah (in the previous chapter he called John and told him about Sarah; he knew it was her without having to see and ID or analyze her finger prints). That's all. I just wanted to let you know about it._

_Also, I'm trying to make my chapters longer than usual, so wish me luck on that!_

_By the way, the rating has gone up. Do I really need to say why? Well...sexy times!_

_I want to thank everyone for their lovely feedback, whether it's a review, a fav or a follow. It means a lot to me._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

Sherlock was just about to shut the world away from him, to fall in the dark abyss of his mind and observe everything that there was to observe about the corpse lying on the cold street. It appeared to be a rather simple case, but Lestrade had called him for help (as always) and since he was there already, the least thing he could do was prove to all those morons that they were morons.

However, just before he closed his ears to everyone around him, he heard Lestrade's voice.

"John, I'm sorry about Sarah. She seemed to be a good gal. Are you all right?"

At the sound of those words, Sherlock's beautiful, all-seeing eyes fell on John. The doctor seemed sad and nostalgic. He looked like a man that was grieving silently and in secret.

"Um, thanks, Greg. It's...it's okay. I'll be fine, don't worry."

Lestrade nodded and did not press the matter, yet Sherlock's mind was on fire. He began to wonder. Was John really mourning over Sarah? Did he miss her? Had her death hurt him? Was it hurting him still? Did he care about her? Did he wish that she were alive and with him? How did he feel about Sherlock, her killer? Had Sherlock been wrong: would John let the police know who had committed the murder?

Emotions attacked Sherlock like a terribly violent hurricane. A storm was raging inside him. He felt so many things that he could not even begin to describe his current emotional state. It was so confusing, so overwhelming. He had to know how John felt. And if the answer was not a good one, then he would have to do anything in his power to make sure that it would change. He just hoped that he would not have to hurt John in order to achieve that.

* * *

John's mind was reeling. There was something wrong with Sherlock, he knew it deep in his bones. The consulting detective had already solved the case. However, he seemed annoyed. John thought that perhaps that was so because it had been an uninteresting case. However, it was not just that. He had been exceptionally rude - no one had ever seen him like that before. Also, he had not talked to John at all. Not at the crime scene, not during the drive home. John could not help but being suspicious and worried.

The moment that he closed the door of 221B, Sherlock pinned him to it. John looked up, expecting to see a seductive Sherlock. Instead, he saw an angry one. He frowned. Was he going to get the blame for the boring case?

"What's wrong?" John asked as he saw that Sherlock was not speaking.

"Do you miss her, John?" Sherlock asked. His voice was calm and cold with the promise of threat and danger underneath.

John blinked, confused. "What?"

"You heard me. Don't make me repeat myself."

"Why do you ask?"

"Do you care about her, John? Do you wish I hadn't killed her? Do you wish I didn't care about you so much?"

John looked at Sherlock. He was not as observant as the consulting detective (no one was, no one could be) but he could read people. Sherlock was being honest. He was feeling betrayed. He was disappointed and a little worried. And he expressed all that in the only way he thought safe: anger.

Sherlock carried on. "Why don't you tell Geoffrey about it, huh? Why don't you go tell him I did it? Then I can rot in prison and you can grieve perfectly on your own!"

Realisation dawned on John and he almost smiled. For a genius, Sherlock Holmes could be a real idiot sometimes. "Is that what this is about?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes!" Sherlock hissed. "You looked sad!"

"Because I had to, you fool! Sarah has only just died, I can't pretend to be untouched by it or over it. Don't you think Lestrade - his name is Greg, by the way - or perhaps someone else would get a bit suspicious? I have to look sad!"

Sherlock looked at him in wonder and surprise. His whole face had changed. He looked so innocent, so perfect. It was like two people were living inside his body, fighting for dominance, each person managing to get into the surface until something happened and the other person prevailed and then it happened all over again.

John did not say anything. He let the consulting detective take it all in, process the new data that had come to light. He seemed confused at first, but slowly his face began to soften. He seemed to be relieved.

He cleared his throat and looked at his shoes. "So...you don't...?"

John knew that this sort of thing was hard for Sherlock. A part of him wanted to let the consulting detective try to say what he was trying to say. That part of him wanted to see Sherlock being tormented like that after what he had done to him. Nevertheless, he was not that kind of man and he did not want to cause any hurt to Sherlock. So, he decided to help him out. He cupped Sherlock's face with his warm hands and forced the taller man to look at him.

"I would never tell anyone what you did. I can't give up on you, Sherlock, and I can't betray you like that. Honestly? I wish you hadn't killed Sarah. But that's because I don't want you to kill. Not for me."

Sherlock looked at him tenderly, yet he looked like a dog that was expecting to get kicked. John knew that the taller man was not used to affection; just getting compliments for his work and intelligence had been clearly a surprise to him. It made John wonder about his past. Had his parents treated him badly? Had Mycroft or kids at school bullied him? Had he lost someone? And if so, had that loss been the reason why Sherlock considered sentiment useless and a restraint?

Sherlock kissed John on the lips, slowly, softly. His hands found the shorter man's waist and stayed there after the kiss.

Sherlock looked like a different person once again. Now he had put his seductive mask on. There was a wolfish grin on his handsome face, and his eyes were filled with lust. John tried not to moan; he succeeded, although he had no idea how he did when he had Sherlock looking at him like that.

"Let me make it up to you," he whispered, his words flying in the air and making John close his eyes for a moment at the thought of what would occur.

* * *

Sherlock had undressed him slowly, making his anticipation build up to a point that he could no longer take it. He hadn't been so smooth. Sherlock's clothes were gone within a few moments, thrown in unknown corners of the detective's bedroom. Now both of them were in nothing but their underwear, John lying in bed, Sherlock looming above him.

Sherlock was taking everything so slowly. He was kissing John slowly - but everywhere. His eyelids, his nose, his cheeks, his lips. He sucked on John's pulse and bit at the skin, making John gasp in surprise and some pain.

"Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked at the doctor and grinned devilishly. "I'm marking you," he explained simply.

John did not want to be marked. He wasn't anyone's property. He wasn't an object. He was a human being, a person with desires and needs and feelings.

"Am I just an object to you?" he asked.

Sherlock's devilish grin turned into a comforting smile. "Of course not," he said. "You are the only person that matters. I want you in my life always. You're _mine_."

And then John's boxers were coming off. It was such a bliss to have those long, smooth, violinist's fingers wrapping around his eager cock. He looked down at the hand as his pulse began to escalate. Oh yes, he was Sherlock's.

Sherlock began to rub his hand up and down John's erect cock, giving a little twist around the head. John's head fell back to the pillow and his eyes closed despite the fact that he wanted to watch. He was panting and moaning. He could feel his tip getting wet as his balls drew up close to his body. And then, a warm wet stripe was being licked up the length of his cock. Somehow, John managed to open his eyes for a moment and he saw Sherlock's lip close around his tip. Then, with another moan, he closed his eyes and bucked his hips up.

For a moment, Sherlock kept his hand on the base of John's cock firmly in order to control the penetration. John was giving shallow with his hips. Vibrations reverberated from his manhood through his entire body.

All of a sudden, Sherlock stopped. And laughed cruelly. "Look at you," he said and John opened his eyes in alert. "You need me so much. Oh, John. John, John, John. Say it. Speak the words."

This was not the time for pride to take over. There was only time for _this_. "Yes," he breathed. "I need you. Please, Sherlock, I need you. I'm yours. All yours. Always yours". Damn him, he meant all of it.

Sherlock grinned in a sinister way and took the entirety of John's hard member in his mouth. John gasped as Sherlock gave him what he wanted. His hips were bucking up again, but his head was in the clouds and did not for one moment consider the possibility of Sherlock chocking. Sherlock made no sort of complaint, though. Besides, he always did like a challenge.

And then, John was coming. His orgasm rocked his body and hit him hard, like violent waves hit an ancient rock at the beach. He let out a groan, a rich and primitive sound. John came into Sherlock's mouth, and Sherlock swallowed everything that his faithful blogger gave him. As he freed John's prick from his talented mouth, a moan escaped his lips. John looked at him and saw that his hand was wrapped around his own cock and clearly he had come as well.

John took a moment to come down from his high. As his breathing slowly turned to normal, he opened his mouth to speak. "Why didn't you let me take care of you?"

An exhausted Sherlock lay next to John. "I couldn't hold it," he replied. "I...what I was doing to you had me right at the edge."

"Oh god," John gasped. "That was amazing, Sherlock."

A smug smile appeared on Sherlock's face. "Really?" he asked flirtatiously.

"Yes! It was...I just...You took me straight to heaven. Sherlock."

The smile on Sherlock's face widened. John knew that words like these only made Sherlock more arrogant and more proud of himself. However, he did not care. It was the truth and Sherlock deserved to know it. Perhaps, one day, words like this would make him so confident that he would not feel the need to kill people in order to make sure that he and John would not be separated.

* * *

_Okay, so I guess that I made this chapter a bit fluffy as well. But I'm trying to make Sherlock possessive. Tell me what you think of him. Do you like him written like this? Do you want to see him darker?_

_By the way, when you listen to "The East Wind" from the series 3 soundtrack while you're writing a story, you're bound to make it a bit fluffy/sad/lovey-dovey. Watching Benedict Cumberbatch in Sesame Street made things even harder..._

_Anyway, I hope you liked this chapter. More will come. But why don't you leave a review until then? :) _


	4. Chapter 4

Hello, lovelies! It's been a while, I know. Sorry about that. I have so many ideas about this story, but I could not put them into words. It was excruciating. Anyway, this chapter went on a completely different road than what I had intended because I got this inspiration all of a sudden, so what was meant to be in this chapter will be in the next. Don't ask me what it will be, you impatient people! Of course I'm kidding about the last one; the Sherlock fandom is the most patient fandom in the world - waiting two years for season 3, now having to wait another two years for season 4...

Anyway! I wanted to thank everyone who has favourited/followed this story. I would also like to thank** Guest** because unfortunately I can't thank you in the form of a PM; so, thank you for your lovely review, and I hope you'll keep reading!

Enough with my rambling. Enjoy!

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had never been a man who frequented bars. Of course, he had also never been a man who was interested in relationships or a man who would kill someone for a person, whether he was involved with the person or not.

Nevertheless, John Watson had changed all that forever. Sherlock had already killed one person for John and he would gladly do it again and again. Also, because of John, Sherlock was now in a bar, sipping the remains of his beer.

"Do you like it here?" John asked.

Sherlock looked around for a moment as if he had not noticed the place all the time that they had been there. Finally, he turned his attention to John. "It's a bit dark," he said, "but I suppose that this is perfectly appropriate in a place where people come in order to drown their sorrows and/or get drunk off their asses. The music could have been better, but then again I'm not particularly fond of this sort of music. Of course, once again, it seems to be perfectly appropriate for a place like this. The beer is good, although it should have been served a little colder..."

John looked disappointed and a little sad, but mad at the same time. Sherlock knew that his comments had been rude and hurtful, considering that John had taken him to a place that he liked, but Sherlock had to be honest. Honesty was very important in a relationship. He had read it in a magazine.

"However," he carried on, "I don't care about all that. I'm with you, that's all that matters."

John looked at him, curiosity and some doubt engraved in his features. Sherlock did his best to show through his face to his blogger that he meant those words, cheesy though they might sound. Oh dear, the one and only Sherlock Holmes was being cheesy because of John Watson! Hell must have frozen over.

A smile slowly spread on John's kind face. "That..." he said. "That's really sweet, Sherlock."

"Are you surprised? I can be cute as a button. Although I never really understood that phrase. What's so cute about a button?"

John chuckled. "Can you not overanalyze everything?" he asked. "You really can be cute as a button when you want to. You can also be a pain in the ass, but I've learned to live with that. And now excuse me, but I have to use the restroom. Then we can go home."

Sherlock nodded, smiling. Home. Oh yes. He could not wait to get home. But he had to take care of something else first.

The moment that John was gone, Sherlock's smile vanished. He left the table he was occupying with John and walked to another one. One man was sitting in a chair, but he was just about to stand up when Sherlock went to him.

"Going somewhere?"

The man turned and looked at the consulting detective. It was obvious that this man was used to spending a lot of time on taking care of himself, but now he had a stubble and his hair had not felt the touch of the straightener as it usually did. Break up. Recent and bad. He had come here in order to lose himself in alcohol - and perhaps have a quickie.

"Sorry, what?" the man asked.

Sherlock decided to play in a different way. So, he forced a small smile to appear on his handsome face. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Chad," the man replied. "Who are you?"

"I'm Christopher. Call me Chris."

A smile began to creep to Chad's face. He was starting to relax. The initial suspicion and alert were gone. "Hi, Chris," he said. "Nice to meet you." He looked at Sherlock from head to heels. "Yes, very nice."

Sherlock pretended to be flattered. "So, um, did you break up with your boyfriend recently?"

Chad blinked. "How did you know?"

"I've been there, I know what it's like. Sorry I brought it up."

Chad shook his head and tried to be all seductive and sexy. It was not working. Or, at least Sherlock thought that he was pathetic. "No, it's okay."

"No, it's not. It's obvious you're not over him." He leaned in to Chad and whispered in his ear, "Do you want a one-night stand? Is that why you're here? Do you want to be fucked senseless by a total stranger in order to get over your ex?"

"God, yes," Chad gasped.

"That man you were checking out," Sherlock carried on whispering in Chad's ear, "the one who just went to the restroom - you fancy him, don't you?"

"Damn, I fancy you way more than him!"

"You were about to leave when I came to you. You were going to go to the restroom and hit on him."

"Yes, but not now that I got you here. I want_ you_."

Sherlock pulled back a little, just so that he could look right into that man's face. His eyes were two green flames burning in his skull. And those two flames were fixed intently on Chad. From excited Chad soon turned to paralyzed from fear. Sherlock could be seductive when he wanted to, but he could also be as dangerous as far as dangerous went.

He grabbed Chad's elbow with his thumb on top, placing his fingers on the back of the elbow for a good grip. Chad looked down at his arm scared, and Sherlock squeezed the tip of his thumb towards the tip of his middle finger. Reinforcing his thumb with his fingers so as not to lose leverage, he looked at Chad's face, enjoying the frightened look he saw. Then, he pressed his thumb into the middle of the crevice.

"Ow! Stop it!"

"No," Sherlock said through gritted teeth. "That was my boyfriend, you asshole. My fucking boyfriend, do you understand? He's mine."

"Ouch!"

"I better not see you around here again, or you'll get worse than that. And you can't even tell anyone about tonight, because I gave you a false name and you're so drunk that you won't remember my face in the morning."

Sherlock chuckled darkly and let Chad go. Chad's arm fell limp on his side and he massaged his elbow with his free hand. He was so pathetic. Did he seriously think that he could have a chance with John?

"Now, Chad, get the hell out of here and don't you dare come back."

Chad did as he was ordered more than willingly. He ran out of the bar, ran for his life. No one paid any attention to him. No one paid any attention to Sherlock either, who went back to his table and patiently waited for John.

And then, John showed up. Sherlock felt as thought the entire place was less dark with John's presence. Good god, that sounded cheesy as well.

John walked to Sherlock, smiling, and resumed his seat. "Sorry it took me so long," he said. There were a lot of people in line."

"That's all right," Sherlock told him. He was about to say, You're worth the wait, but that sounded very cheesy too, so he decided to settle with something else. He leaned in, grabbed John, and pulled him into a hungry kiss. John was clearly shocked, but he very soon responded with equal fervor. The kiss made Sherlock see stars behind his closed eye lids. What wouldn't he do for John Watson...

"Sherlock!" John exclaimed the moment they broke the kiss.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Don't you want people to see us?" he asked. "Are you embarrassed of our relationship?"

"No, that's not what - I thought that maybe you - no, of course I'm not embarrassed!"

Sherlock grinned. "Then shut up and kiss me."

* * *

I have to say that I really like this idea that came to me just when I started typing the AN. Dark and possessive Sherlock is back! And he's so badass that he knows all about pressure points.

By the way, I chose Christopher as the fake name that Sherlock gave Chad because of Parade's End. I watched it very recently. Benedict was, of course, amazing in it. If you like this sort of stuff, you should watch it.

Anyway, I hope you liked the chapter. Feedback is love! x


	5. Chapter 5

I have been away for a while, I admit it. But I was suffering from writer's block and a sudden urge to write more platonic Johnlock fanfiction. I got over both of those things obviously, so now I am back! Enjoy!

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Sherlock was beautiful. Distressingly beautiful. Ethereal. This is a fact that John had come to recognise with the same certainty he reserved for the rising of the sun in the morning or the need all human beings have to breathe in and out. To know that this man desired John and would do anything for him made John feel special. He had spent all his life believing that he was anything but special, but Sherlock had changed his mind - not that John was vain; it was just how Sherlock made him feel. Yet he still could not understand why such a genius would be so engrossed in him.

Nevertheless, there was a deep corner in John's mind. A deep corner where doubt - and something close to fear - were growing. It was obvious that Sherlock could harm, even kill people. What if, one day, this dark side of Sherlock turned against John himself? Could Sherlock really cause pain to John?

Those thoughts were eating John from the inside out after he got the phone call. What was he supposed to tell Sherlock?

Well, the truth of course. He was a grown man. And he had no reason to be afraid of the person he was currently in a relationship with.

Right?

"John, is everything all right?" Sherlock's voice brought John back to the reality and the choice he had to make.

He took one deep breath and returned in the living room, his mobile phone still in one hand. Sherlock had sprawled his long, gorgeous form on the sofa. There was nothing seductive in the way he looked at John, but just the way that he was lying there made John want to walk to him in a few steps and kiss him until both of them were breathless.

Instead he said, "A friend from the army had a car accident. He...he died immediately."

Sherlock merely looked at him. He did not look sorry and sympathetic, he did not offer his condolences. He just looked, almost as if he had not truly heard and was still waiting for words to fall from John's lips.

"The funeral," John carried on, "is in Glasgow, so I'll have to go for a while."

Sherlock's eyes never moved away from John, yet he still did not open his mouth for some time. John looked right back at him, unsure of what to say or do. He had expected a more...verbal reaction.

Finally Sherlock nodded. "So?" he asked.

"Um...that's all," John said. "I wanted to let you know that I'm going. I have to."

"Fine."

John blinked. "Er - really?"

Sherlock shrugged, looking already tired of the conversation and wishing to change the topic or stop discussing. "You are an adult, John," he said reasonably. "You have lost a friend, a fellow military man. You have to go and honour him."

John nodded, surprised although relieved. "So we're okay?" he asked, wishing with every fibre of his being that he would get a positive response.

Sherlock sighed and got up with a languid movement. He walked to John in two long strides and claimed the shorter man's mouth in a very passionate kiss. John barely had any time to register just what was happening, but that did not prevent him from wrapping his arms around Sherlock and responding with equal fervor. All that mattered was that moment.

When Sherlock broke the kiss, he said, "That's for convincing you that we're okay. And to show you that you won't find anyone better in Glasgow."

* * *

Sherlock Holmes remained high-spirited and his usual (although not exactly normal) self until John's departure. He acted as if nothing was wrong, as if everything was fine and there was not a hurricane of emotions attacking him on the inside. It was not fear, not quite. He was not doubting John either. It was loneliness. The pain of loss. He knew that John would be back shortly and that the distance was not really so great (not as great as, for example, the distance between the land of the living and the underworld). And yet, as the seconds went by, Sherlock felt emptier and emptier.

Until John left for the funeral.

Sherlock felt a hole inside him that no one could fill. Not sweet Mrs. Hudson - and of course no one else. The cases helped Sherlock escape, but only for a while. And they all seemed so boring. Sherlock could almost hear John utter "Brilliant!" every time he pointed something obvious only to himself. But John was not there.

Sherlock tried to detach himself from emotions, just as he had been doing most of his life. However, it was hard. John had opened the door to sentiment, and now that door could not close again. Not completely. Not anymore.

So, there was only one solution for the consulting detective. He returned to the closest thing he had to a best friend before John: cocaine. Suspecting that his dear older brother might be watching, he decided to try a different source, a not so famous one. Despite all that, it was the source of strong stuff.

And so, he injected the sweet drug into his body again and again, letting it flow inside his veins, giving him peace and quiet. Sherlock felt so serene, so weightless, and yet his mind was still as sharp as a razor. People would say that he had become more rude than usual, but Sherlock never noticed.

* * *

John was happy to be back. The trip had been tiring, and the funeral had been an even worse affair. John had liked Charlie and was sad about his passing. Seeing Charlie's family - his wife and his angel of a daughter - had not made things any easier. John needed to just be home, back to 221B Baker Street, and be with Sherlock.

But the consulting detective was no where to be seen. John left his luggage in the living room and went to Sherlock's bedroom. He thought that no one was there...

...but he was wrong. Everything happened so fast. The door closed after John, and the figure hiding behind it pinned John there. The latter was given some time to panic, until he saw Sherlock loom over him. He let his breath slowly escape his lips and leave his now relieved body. He looked at the taller man, smiling, just about to speak.

Instead, his smile slowly melted off his face. Sherlock was looking at him with rage burning in his intent eyes. He held John by his arms and his grip grew stronger and stronger until it began to hurt.

"Sherlock, what the hell? Stop - ow!"

Through the haze of pain, John managed to look at the taller man's face. There were black circles under his beautiful eyes, and some stubble made him look fiercer. His eyes were, at the same time, dead and burning.

"Where have you been?" Sherlock asked through gritted teeth.

"What? You know bloody well where!"

"What the fuck took you so long to come back? Found an old lover from the army?"

"Sherlock, I never -"

"Did you fuck him? Was he like you remembered?"

"Sherlock, stop this madness!"

Sherlock's eyes burned brighter. They were now almost terrible to look upon. "Are you calling me mad?" he asked, coldly and dangerously as a snake would. "After everything that I've done for you, you're calling me INSANE?"

John never saw the blow coming. He only felt the pain as Sherlock's fist found his cheek. He bit his bottom lip so hard that he drew blood so that he would not cry out. He would have fallen on the floor if Sherlock had let go of his arms. He did not understand. What was wrong? What had happened? Had his fears been completely rational and excusable after all?

"Damn you, John," Sherlock hissed. "I l -I care about you and this is how you repay me?" This time John saw it coming, but this does not mean that the punch hurt any less. "You are mine. _Mine_. You won't leave me, do you understand? You belong to me!"

Before John had time to do anything, Sherlock left the room and locked his faithful blogger inside.

* * *

I don't think that I like this chapter so much, but I decided that I just had to post something, so here it is. Next chapter will explain more about Sherlock's behaviour, although I do not promise an update that soon. There is a bit of a distance between myself and fanfiction lately. Anyway, you know that your feedback will motivate me to write the next chapter. So, give us some love and keep being amazing!


	6. Chapter 6

I would like to thank every single person who has reviewed/faved/followed. I hope you won't lose interest. Special thanks to **ScarlettLikesUmbrellas**, because chatting with you helped me find the solution to the problem that I had with this chapter.

* * *

Sherlock slowly opened his eyes, feeling the rays of the sun bathing his long face. He realised that he had slept in the sofa but could not, at the moment, remember why. Usually he spent his nights in bed - his or John's. He rubbed the sleepiness off his eyes and noticed the man sitting in his chair. From his posture he recognised him immediately.

"Good morning, Mycroft," he said, not very pleased.

"Good morning, brother mine."

Sherlock supposed that the right thing for him to do would be to get up and offer his brother tea or some other beverage and perhaps something to eat. He only did the first thing and sat in John's chair. It felt a little odd, sitting there, but he liked being somewhere where John usually was. It made sitting in that chair feel more intimate, an inside joke that Mycroft had no idea about. And oh, how Sherlock loved knowing things that his elder brother was unaware of! It was a rather rare situation.

"What are you doing here, Mycroft?" he asked in a bored tone.

"Checking up on you."

"You checked up on me. Now go."

The corners of Mycroft's lips softly turned up in a small smile. "My, my, you wound me, brother mine. Is that the way to treat family?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He had only just woken up and he was not in the mood. But if Mycroft wanted to play games, Sherlock would not let him win. So, he gave in and played along. "And I suppose lying is the way to treat family?" he mocked.

The smile melted off Mycroft's face. He became serious, but not cold. He looked...concerned. That was worse than cold. "Lying?" he repeated.

"You're not here to check up on me. You never do that. Oh, you have an eye on me always, I know that. But coming here to check up on me? Nope, that's not you. So, why are you here?"

"I'm here about what happened last night."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "What happened last night?" he asked. Had there been an intriguing murder? Did Mycroft have a case that might interest him? He began to feel excitement running through him, but at the same time he knew that Mycroft did not have something like that in mind. Lestrade would have called him. So Mycroft's visit had some other cause.

"You mean you don't remember?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated. Images were flashing in his mind...He was holding John's arms so tightly that it hurt...He was accusing John of adultery...He was yelling at John, spitting words at his face in rage...He punched John twice, one time after almost telling him that he loved him...And then he locked John in the bedroom...God, what had he done?

"I...," he said, his voice breaking. "I didn't mean to, it's not my fault."

Mycroft studied his younger brother with a stern look on his face. "I believe you did not mean to cause any harm to John. But you did it nonetheless. Now you have to find out why."

"What's wrong with me?" he asked himself angrily but did not get an answer. How could he have done something so terrible, something so monstrous to the only person he loved? He did love John, there was no doubt in his heart about that. But he could not, for the life of him, understand why he had behaved like that.

"Think." Mycroft made it sound like an order. "Something must have caused you to act like that. Something must have triggered you."

Sherlock heard his brother's words but he could not heed them. He could not think straight. He could not focus.

But he had to. For John. He had to find the explanation for John. He knew that the answer would not make things all right again. He knew that the answer would not make John forgive him. Nevertheless, there was still a spark of hope inside him. Maybe...just maybe, John would understand. Comprehensive, kind John. Maybe...

"Narrow it down," Mycroft's voice reached him from a distance.

Sherlock closed his eyes again, his brain working at an impossible speed. Memories appeared in his mind, one running after the other. It had to be there...somewhere...

He opened his eyes abruptly. Oh it was so simple. So simple yet so terrible. And foolish. How could he have been such an idiot?

"It was the cocaine!" he exclaimed. "Unreliable source. Something must have been wrong with it. I was being too rude, even for my standards. And then John returned, and jealousy kicked in along with my loneliness and I became aggressive...violent...oh god...oh John..."

Mycroft's discreet smile appeared on his pale face again. "Very good, Sherlock," he said. "Very good indeed."

Sherlock looked at his brother suspiciously. "Wait a minute," he said. "How did you know what happened last night?"

Mycroft's smile widened, making him look rather creepy. "I don't know, brother mine. I'm not even here."

At that point Sherlock woke up with a gasp. Everything was just like in the dream: the sun rays were caressing his face, he was lying in the sofa. Except that his elder brother was not in John's chair. Sherlock was alone in the living room.

He jumped out of the sofa like an arrow. He had to see John. He had to tell him. He had to explain everything. Poor John. What had he done to him? Would John ever forgive him? Would he even believe him?

He did not let his fears get the best of him. He ran towards his bedroom, stumbling once but managing not to fall. John had to forgive him. It had not been his fault. He would do anything to make John see that. He would do anything to make John forgive him.

He managed to unlock the door although his hands were shaking with excitement and fear at the same time. He opened the door, not really thinking that John might be sleeping...

...and discovered that John was not even there to begin with. He was gone. Just gone. Not hiding anywhere. Gone.

Sherlock's hawk eyes immediately noticed the open window. He was absolutely certain that he had not left it like that. He walked to it and saw the covers of the bed tied in a way so as to form a rope that almost touched the ground outside. He quickly gathered it and threw it inside. He did not want anyone to see it and phone the police or something of the sort.

So, John had escaped. Sherlock could not blame him. He just wanted to know where he was and whether he was safe.


End file.
